Artificial Lover And Other Disgusting Tales
by SpoiledLittlePrince
Summary: Guess who is Shilo engaged to... The first tale of a series, and my first fic in english, too. Warning: Dark humour, tons of cynicism and perhaps some grammar mistakes ahead. Enter at your own risk ;


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** -ARTIFICIAL LOVER-**

His skin is like rubber, like plastic, stretched and contracted a thousand times ... But that is not even the best part (the goose that lays the golden eggs is mine, all that I have). He is an almost robotic toy lover, without many phrases. His spasmodic silhouette, engraved on the wall during orgasm, it's just another convulsive movement throughout the day, ready to be recorded by a camera that does not love him as much as he would like to. (As much as we all should, as he usually says)

Perfection needs some attention, and the fact is that this is a cheap price I love to pay.

He is pathetic, he is volcanic, a giant with feet of clay, who insists on turning abstract and be a part of some gallery. It's all about vanity, even though he has never needed to show up in a fair.

Cut, paste, sew, stretch ... I think I can consider this relationship as my good deed for the planet. After all, he is a 100% recycled man.

Hail to the Adam of the biomechanical age!

I hate him, I love him, I depend entirely on our shared frivolity. My little magic doll without a will, the slave of a million whims, suffers- more than wears- an olfashioned hairstyle, that he insists on calling a classic. His tremendous bad taste, regarding everything but me, helps us to highlight.

I don't have a clue of how he looked like before his first surgery, since he has burned all his photos. Perhaps he is just afraid of looking bad when a comparison is made.

Does this make him kill his lovers fearing they would find something better than he can provide them?

He is "l'homme fatal", "un esecutivo immortale", the beautiful and empty cocoon of a monsterman.

He, as a non-talented esthete, pursues beauty at the risk of autoimmolation. The result, though grotesque, is admirable: with an a scalpel and perseverance he gets gradually corrected (forgotten, eliminated...)

My beloved is a mad genius, a lovely maniac with a voracious appetite for news and fashion. He has no moral or assumes hundreds, depending on the day... I sleep with the artificial man, an automutilation pioneer!

Someday, a more beautiful humanity will be on debt.

He has made a public event of every private wound, a step towards perfection or the tomb (returning to the womb is still impossible once born, my dear. Only little immersions during penetration can get you closer to the real thing.)

My lover is bold in a time when all wars have ended, and lacking of other medals, he wears scars with proud. Always excited and nervous, always insecure and shaky... He's the incredible talking dildo! A worthless man everywhere but in bed.

... But bragging about him is so easy I can barely resist. It is almost a requirement: I have him and you don't. Envy me kids, because I must put up with him! His languid dead woman lips only kiss his mirror and me ...

And, despite everything, I know he does not like my face or he would have torn it into strips. His greatest failing is not perfectionism, but envy. I have never known what he thinks of when having sex... maybe just about himself. It's the only thing that keeps him concentrated, God knows why.

Every groan, every moan emitted increases his ego. He loves stunts more than satisfaction. Ten in plasticity, nine in implementation, zero in considering that under him is another human being.

Some of us have to rest after each session.

He has a mirror of a soul: he loves me because I do. I wonder if he will hate me when I finally get bored of this... He is a sweetly symmetrical little thing.

That's one of the few things that can not be fixed using a scalpel. Despite collagen and lipid redistribution he will still be empty inside. Filling his head with anything non-related to his own person is an activity that requires a virtuosity that sometimes I lack of. I simply do not have enought patience to teach him.

... At least, if not smart, I can say that he's funny. He helps eliminating anxiety, time and credit cards ... Sometimes, he even provides me some shade.

He is happy being alive, and I would not oppose that will. Life can be charming from the perspective of a fool, that's it.

"One of these days I'm leaving this place" I repeat myself in the mirror, while picking my clothes up from the ground, thrown there by him. But in the end the flesh is stronger than anger, and I find my own mouth seeking his body, before all begins again.

Oh, even his flavor is synthetic ...

This is no longer just a vicious circle, but an evil one. He is weak, damn, and so am I.

A blind guides another blind through the darkness of the bed, how could it not finish with both of us in Hell?

Fortunately, he will have his beloved dad to make sure we get there into First class and enhance our stay.

Such an arrogance kills me ... and makes my life easier than I could have ever expected.

What would I do without his money? Probably work for a living. Marriage itself is a promotion and sex is not bad paid at all. The drawbacks are minimal: just him and his irritating (adorable and fascinating) character.

Lack of loyalty is the least important of the bunch. Both of us are in favor of variety, while limiting to venereal things ... It's only a game: he returns to me after each killing, with renewed spirit and a a brand new happy face.

For what it comes to me, I have lost count of how many people have I second-hand fucked with...

After all, sharing is loving. His kidneys bear my name, or so he said in a lust outburst. I can dispose of them at any moment. It was an original declaration after all, and I believe he is sincere. The road to his heart -either of them- passes through surgery.

It's funny, but I always thought the easiest way would be a fellatio. He always chooses the most painful, disgusting things, though.

Expressing his love by using his entire body, not being the best with words, we can still communicate with each other. Our future is dissected, but not completely doomed.

Money maintains our brains hibernating.

-Shilo, put that stupid dress on or go nude if that's what you really want to. Your fucking groom is getting impatient!

His sister's piggy squeals are going to produce me a cancer.

Maybe it's time to wake the sleeping beauty and see if we can live (un)happily ever after.

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Make this author happy: REVIEW this series, please. PMs would be fine, too... Help me improving my english! #u.u#

I really need your point of view :)


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